and it's all pippi's fault, really
by nericearren
Summary: Lisanna didn't hate him. She just didn't like him very much.


The Pauli Exclusion Principle

Something-I _really_ hoped it wasn't a hand-slapped at my butt and then dropped a bowl into my already full sink of dishwater. "Thanks, baby."

I glared up at the perpetrator with every ounce of disgust that I could manage. Bickslow grinned down at me, mocking. "When you're done with that, can you make me a sandwich?" he asked, and I had to clench my hands into fists under the water to prevent myself from throwing a pot at him.

This wasn't the first time that I'd been subjected to the horror know as Bickslow's company; with my brother dating Evergreen in not-so-secret, and my sister caught in a strange and unfortunate love triangle with Laxus and Freed(the girl in the equation being Freed, not Mira), lots of things called "family dinners" had been happening, and with every single other member of our teams occupied with their love life, Bickslow and I had been spending some quality time getting to hate each other.

"If you want a sandwich," I said tightly, "get it yourself. Besides, we just ate dinner."

"I'm hungry," he whined, and his ever-present puppets echoed the sentiment with, "hungry, hungry, hungry!".

I resumed scrubbing pots in silence. For the sake of my siblings, I wasn't going to pick a fight with Bickslow-_yet_-but that didn't mean I had to talk to him, either. I just couldn't figure out why he always tried to push _my_ buttons. I already had enough older-brother figures to fill a morgue(and, believe me, I'd considered it)-I didn't need some stupid lout of a seith mage thinking he was one, either, even if he might soon be my brother-in-law.

"So," Bickslow, apparently not going away anytime soon, leaned on the counter uncomfortably close to me and munched obnoxiously on an apple. "Looks like it's just you an' me tonight, hmm?"

"What are you talking about?" For all that I didn't like him, I couldn't help getting dragged into the most random of conversations with him. Last time, it had been about polyester stuffing-the time before that, if mind-control magic should be made illegal(I was for, he was obviously against).

"Well, the lovebirds-" by which he meant Elfman and Evergreen, "-have conveniently disappeared into Freed's bedroom for some . . . privacy," he sneered, and I made a face of disgust. "And Mirajane is currently beating the crap out of Laxus outside, while Freed pretends that he doesn't know either of them and weeds the garden. Which leaves you, baby, and me. All on our lonesomes." He tried to sling an arm around my shoulders, and I shoved him away in irritation.

"Go be lonesome in another room," I commanded. "I'm actually _working_, here."

"Take a break," he suggested. "Let's go kill zombies or something. I'm bored." As if that was a good reason to do anything.

"Zombies?" There weren't any zombies in Magnolia-that I knew of.

Bickslow grinned, tongue lolling like a dog's. "It's a game that I got. Zombies have invaded, and you gotta behead them all before they eat your brain."

I shook my head, dumping out my dirty dishwater. "You? Brain? I don't think you have to worry about that."

"C'mon," he badgered, tossing his apple core over my shoulder and into the trash can. "You just know that you have a bloodthirsty side."

"I really don't." I picked up a dish towel and started to dry the dishes that I'd just washed, seeing as Bickslow wasn't going to be helpful.

He snorted. "I forgot. You're all sugar and spice, right? Never hurt a soul in the world." He sounded as though he believed it as much as he believed that my brother and his girlfriend had only gone into Freed's room to talk.

"I'm not saying that," I protested. "I just don't enjoy violence."

"You're boring," he complained.

"And you're immature," I retorted. "Are we even now?"

"Not even close." He leaned his elbows on the counter, so that we were the same eye level, and said, "Are you scared that you're going to lose?"

"Wha-no, I'm not scared that I'm going to lose," I said incredulously, unable to believe he was resorting to such a childish tactic. Well, okay, I was unable to believe it at first, but after some thought, it was a little easier. I reached up to put away a dish in the cupboard over his head, and he openly leered at my stretching torso. His glorified nesting dolls danced around me in the air, jabbing at several inappropriate places.

"I bet you are scared," he taunted. "You're too nice to beat me at anything, even if you had the skill-which you don't."

I was determined to not take the bait. "Does that make you feel good, Bickslow? Being mean to little girls? Does it make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside?"

Without his helmet, it was easy to see the path that his eyes took, up and down my body. "Hate to break it to ya, Lissy, but you ain't a little girl anymore."

I glared at him, angry that I couldn't come up with another snappy retort. "Don't call me Lissy," was the best I could manage-and it was pretty lame.

Bickslow rolled his eyes. "We're gonna be here all night, Baby Strauss. Now we can waste all that time doin' responsible things like dishes and laundry-"

"I choose that option," I interrupted, and he stuck his tongue out at me before going on, "-or we can have some _fun_. How about we have some fun, Lissy?"

"I don't like your idea of fun," I said suspiciously.

"It's one video game," Bickslow badgered. "What's the worse that could happen?"

"Death, dismemberment, minor bruising, bonding against my better judgment . . ."

"_One_ game."

Five minutes later, I was on the couch, watching him stick his game cube into the media lacrima. A holographic image of a zombie, chowing down on a wailing blond girl, flickered to life above the cube, and Bickslow jogged back to the couch and threw himself down next to me, and unmistakably eager look on his face. "You better not cry when I roast you on a stick," he warned.

I just grabbed a controller and waved it at him.

"Point it at the screen, the screen," he said, as if I didn't already know that. "The screen, screen, screen!" his babies crowed, settling around us like the world's weirdest roosting chickens.

I pointed the controller at the screen. "What? Like this? And here I was, sure that you had to point it at the ceiling."

"You talk and talk and we're hearing is the sound of a loser losing," Bickslow said, once more proving that he was more childish than most two-year-olds.

"Referring to yourself in the plural? That's not weird."

"Me and my babies, dumbass," he countered, gesturing to the puppets nestled around him. The nearest one nudged my elbow. "Dumbass, dumbass," it crowed.

"Thank you," I replied dourly, then realized I was talking to an-if not inanimate, than un-autonomous-object.

"Stop snarking at Pippi and prepare to lose," Bickslow said, pointing his controller at the game cube. "I'm gonna kick your ass."

"Bet that'll make you feel _real_ good," I commented, but before long I was too absorbed in staying "alive" to come up with any snappy remarks. I wasn't a novice game player by a long shot-growing up with Elfman had had its benefits-but Bickslow wasn't skipping stones in the park. He started at the hardest level and went _up_.

Our conversation, as such, was a series of grunts and the occasional, "Dammit!" or "I'm up by five!". And since we weren't talking, I was starting to like Bickslow a little bit more. Plus, Pippi was kind of cute, bumping against my arm and saying, "Score!" every time I added another kill to my pile.

At the end of a round, Bickslow looked around as if taking inventory of his babies. When his eyes landed on Pippi, he frowned. "You're supposed to be on my side," he complained.

"He likes me," I said smugly. "I think I'll keep him."

"Don't you-"

"Next level," I interrupted.

"Dammit!" He punched a few buttons, and we went on playing.

"D'you think Laxus is done kicking Mira's ass yet?" Bickslow asked, somewhere into our third hour of playing.

I scoffed. "I think you mean the other way around. Mira-nee can take on Laxus any day."

"I'm honor-bound ta dispute that."

"You? Honor?"

He chuckled. "Good point. But I'll betcha twenty jewel that Laxus gets Freed, whether he wins the fight or not."

"You haven't seen the way that Freed and Mira-nee have bonded," I argued. "I'm taking that bet."

"Bet, bet, bet!" Pippi cried.

"Bet, bet!" the others echoed.

Bickslow paused the game. "Seriously. Give me back my baby."

"No," I said, half-joking, petting Pippi on the head. "You're mean to him and make him fight."

"And you think he's a flying doll. Give him back."

"How about we bet Pippi, instead of the twenty jewel?" I suggested jokingly.

Bickslow's whole body went taught. I had thought he didn't have any expressions beyond Cheering For Laxus Like An Idiot and Leering At Girls Like An Idiot-but he glared at me as though I'd just trampled on his grandmother's grave. "Get the fuck outta the room."

"But-"

"I'll punch you," he threatened, red eyes narrow. "My souls aren't somethin' to bet or trade. Now you pissed me off, so get out."

"I didn't mean-"

"GET THE FUCK OUT!"

I leapt up, stunned and more than a little scared, and ran out of the room, fighting the urge to find my sister and cry like a little girl.

"So, I guess you found my berserk button," someone said sheepishly from behind me.

I kept stuffing clothing into the washtub, wishing that Mira and Elf would just finish up with their partners already so that we could go home.

"I'm tryin' to apologize," Bickslow went on.

Pippi flew over my shoulder. "Apologize, apologize."

Well, heaven forbid I ignore the instructions of a flying puppet-sorry, _soul_-with the IQ of a toddler. I threw a few more clothes into the tub, and picked up the scrubbing board. Laundry does wonders for bad tempers.

"Yeah. I'm sorry, too," I muttered. I _was_ sorry-I hadn't realize that joking with Bickslow about his babies would be like suggesting to Alzak and Bisca that Asuka be sold to a child farm. But, at the same time, how was I supposed to know that?

_And_ he'd yelled at me.

"I shouldn'ta yelled," he said quietly, as if reading my mind. "But, damn-" he exhaled. "These guys are important to me, okay?"

"Then you should have just said that," I said, mechanically scrubbing a shirt up and down the washboard.

"You ain't exactly easy to talk to," he accused. That was a first-usually it was, "Lisanna, you're so nice" or "Lisanna, you're so understanding" or "Lisanna, I'm so glad you don't mind I took up with the boy you loved while he thought you were dead and no, I'm not giving him back".

I glared at him over my shoulder. He did look contrite, I have to give him that. But there was something about his eyes that didn't quite convince me of his sincerity.

"I'm hard to talk to?" I asked skeptically.

"Well, ya got no sense of humor," he began. "And you've inherited your sister's obsession with cleaning."

"You're a sexist ass," I pointed out. "You don't hear me complaining."

"You don't _have_ to," he said exasperatedly. "You make it clear with every expression, every movement-hell, your whole _soul_ screams out how much ya hate me."

"I don't-I've never hated-I don't hate you," I wound up saying. "I just don't . . . like you very much."

"Cause that's so much better."

"Well, this would be easier if you weren't such a pig!"

We looked at each other. I went back to scrubbing. Bickslow scratched the back of his neck. "Jus' don't joke around about my babies, a'right?"

"So, it's okay for you to joke about everything, but not me?"

"I don't joke about everything," he said, sounding about to fire up again. Then he took a breath, exhaled, and swore softly. "See? This is what I mean. Ya take everything I say and make it sound like somethin' inappropriate or dumb."

"Nearly everything you say _is_ inappropriate or dumb," I said, pulling the nineteenth flouncy shirt out of the washtub. "Doesn't seem to bug you."

He made a wringing motion with his hands. "How is it that no one has killed you by now?"

"It's quite simple," I beamed. "Only you bring out this unpleasant side of me." I picked up the basket of soggy clothes, then paused. "I won't make fun of your babies, okay? They're cute."

He made a wide gesture as if to say "_thank_ you", and I exited the room, planning to hang the wet clothes on the wash line outside. I ran into Mirajane, her clothes disheveled and a seriously put-out look on her face.

"Put that down, Lisanna, we're going home," she ordered.

"Is everything okay?" I asked, even though it was rather obvious that the answer was "no".

My sister sighed. "Fairy Tail officially has its first homosexual couple. Break out the purple flags."

Elfman stuck his head out of a nearby room(I assumed it was Freed's), his hair every which way, chest bare. "Purple flags aren't manly," he said, confused.

"Put on your pants, we're going," Mira told him, scowling slightly.

"It's _first_ homosexual couple? Are ya sure?" Bickslow asked from behind me. He effortlessly reached over my head and plucked the laundry basket from my hand-a gesture so decent, I was surprised into a murmured, "Thank you."

"I a'ways thought Gray and Natsu were a little suspicious," he went on, and slapped my butt. Hard. "See ya next Friday, baby."

I scowled at him, but it wasn't as genuine as it had been before. "Be ready to have your ass handed to you."

"Lisanna!" Mirajane was shocked out of her bad mood, but Bickslow just laughed and shook his finger at me. "Ah-ah-ah-you owe me twenty jewel, before any ass-handing gets started."

"That wasn't a real bet," I scoffed.

"We'll settle this later," he promised and I was surprised to find myself anticipating the event.

The night hadn't really been so bad.


End file.
